


drowning in stardust ; drunk on indigo skies

by telekinetics



Series: in this way, can a reflection be altered? [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Character Study, Gen, i love th skywalker twins w my whole heart yall......wrow, leias a tatooine baby n luke grew up on alderaan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 16:39:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13170936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telekinetics/pseuds/telekinetics
Summary: “it was on this night of the year that she felt it the most, nose turned upwards, soul mingling with the galaxy as she watched the stars flicker. it was on her birthday that she let her eyes sweep the sky and could, somehow, feel somebody out there who felt what she felt and knew what she knew. somebody who was exactly like leia, and nothing like her at the same time.”OR— leia skywalker plots her revolution on the sands of tatooine, while luke organa, thousands of lightyears away, is dizzy with possibility.





	drowning in stardust ; drunk on indigo skies

**Author's Note:**

> this is jst me dippin my toes into a universe ive thought a Lot ab so i hope yall enjooooy !!

T A T O O I N E.  
     There was something about the bottomless nights painted across the Tatooine sky that almost made the desert wasteland worth its while. The moons— _Ghomrassen, Guermessa, Chenini,_ the sand seemed to whisper, to call out, almost as if to remind the residents of the desolate planet that at least three of its inhabitants held their identities dearly— kept guard over the the whole of it all, casting an eerie glow over the dunes and mountains sloping across the landscape.  
     No one really _enjoyed_ Tatooine, characterized by intolerable heat strokes and work boots sinking down into the scorching sand. It was a place you left while you could; it was a place most people died in. Binary sunsets made for a pretty sight, but when it’s noon and both Tatoo I and II are pinned to the center of the sky and the only water source in the area is the sweat beating down your brow— suffice to say, the idea of anyone resigning themselves to a life amongst sandstorms and hunger felt pointedly absurd to many, but with lands like Tatooine, you had to get out young.  
     Leia Skywalker is nineteen-years old today.  
     She found herself to be much like the night sky of Tatooine; out of place in a world such as this. For where the stereotype (and _truth_ ) of the planet is that of an abandoned hellscape, Leia thought of the nights as unlike anything anyone had ever spoken of in relation to Tatooine— refreshing, perplexing, unfathomable. She leans forward, resting her chin on her knuckles, the three moons reflected on the surface of her dark eyes. She vaguely registers pinches of pain when she puts her makeshift support in use, causing her to spare a mere cursory glance at her fingers— she doesn’t need two suns to light her bedroom to see the galaxy of bruises on her hands, bruises she was only mildly surprised at having forgotten.  
     Getting involved in scuffles was second nature to her, after all; she was lucky she’d walked away without a broken nose.  
     Leia Skywalker is nineteen-years old today, and she is a solar system in all of its glory waiting to be discovered, a conglomeration of unnamed stars dotted through the universe, a wrongfully convicted prisoner who spoke of woe and whose soul begged for freedom and justice. Her eyebrows were arched upwards, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Her vaguely uneven shock of hair fell just above her shoulders— she’d cut it herself, years earlier, much to aunt Beru’s dismay and had proceeded to keep it at more or less the same length. From an outsider’s perspective, she was the picture of serenity, bathed in moonlight, an expression of bewildered understanding prevalent on her face.  
     Uncle Owen had always found the charm she saw in Tatooine’s nights misplaced— _Leia, you already burn as bright, if not brighter, than all the suns in all the galaxies combined_ — but where her temperament was hot and persistent, much like the dusty afternoons the rest of her family thrived under, her dreams seemed closer to the boundless, isolated canvas of the night sky. She found she couldn’t keep her eyes off the moons, or the stars, and she felt this overwhelming urge to launch herself into the deepest, darkest part of the universe and find out everything she could. Her heart ached for it; she knew there was more to her than living and dying on this forgotten desert, she could feel a wavering of potential humming restlessly in her chest, waiting for her to take her chance and go on to bigger and better things, to take up her purpose and find her place and make the stars themselves answer to her very command.  
     She’d made it a habit of staying up even later than she normally did on the eve of her birthday, had taken a liking to feeling her previous age dissipate, the metaphorical clock that was jotting her time on this plane down crossing off yet another year of sand and heat and thirst. As one night bled into another, Leia had sworn she had felt herself turn nineteen, and she told herself that this would be the year she finally got out—  
     A promise she had an eighteen-year streak of promptly breaking.  
     Many of the other teenagers on Tatooine had resigned themselves to the rest of their lives, dutifully attending their lessons and learning the intricacies of the _ever entertaining_ moisture farming business. This held especially true for the mean kids, tall and burly, who Leia felt were nothing but bantha fodder and who gave her the most trouble, by far. She had always been one to let her temper get the better of her, and although, to an outside eye, she seemed as cool as a dead star in these calm moments before dawn broke, there was an unmistakable fire that kept her going—  
     It scared her sometimes, how hot her flames were. If pushed too hard, she had no qualms about burning this kriffing planet down.  
     (Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was a lie. Still, the pang of guilt rang clear through her quiet body, and she momentarily cast her eyes down in shame before letting the magnetic night encapsulate her yet again.)  
     Sometimes, the fire within felt more like… a light. Something that _glowed_ inside of her, dormant but present. It was on this night of the year that she felt it the most, nose turned upwards, soul mingling with the galaxy as she watched the stars flicker. It was on her birthday that she let her eyes sweep the sky and could, somehow, _feel_ somebody out there who felt what she felt and knew what she knew. Somebody out there who _understood_. Somebody, somebody just like her, eyes wide and searching for a sign that it wasn’t all in their head, that they _were_ meant for greater things, somebody who was exactly like Leia, and nothing like her at the same time.  
     She’d seen them in dreams—  
     Well, no.  
     No, she hadn’t _seen_ anything. She’d _felt_ , like she was feeling right now, like the glow inside of her was casting a shadow on all of Tatooine, and was illuminating the way to this stranger who might as well be halfway across the galaxy, but who she knew was real, who she was destined to find. It was times like these where she felt she had a home, out there, somewhere.  
     She wondered, vaguely, like she always did, if it was her father, or her mother, before shutting down the idea completely. She knew nothing of either of them, save that they were dead and gone and that the only family she had were Beru and Owen Lars, simpleton moisture farmers, satisfied with their places in life, who had filled her days with rules and love and rules and care and _rules_. Rules that she did, more often than not, ignore, but having them put in place was a challenge and Leia never backed down. Beru and Owen Lars, who had taken upon themselves to raise a youngling they just barely had an obligation to, who stuck by her and gave her refuge and adoration, even when she went from a fussy infant to an incorrigible toddler, to a troublemaking rascal, to the hotheaded nineteen-year old that found herself so attracted to a universe that, according to her aunt and uncle, she had no place in.  
     She was different. That was the problem.  
     (That was the _solution_.)  
     Much too different for her own good. Sure, she wasn’t the only one who mooned over the prospect of getting out— Biggs, too, longed for a ship of his own, for an opportunity to get off this rock, _desired_ and _wanted_ , but Leia _needed_ it like she needed the blood coursing through her veins. She found that she could live without exhilaration, but not without purpose. There had to be a meaning for her existence, a reason she was put on this realm— a short, stubborn little girl with the biggest mouth this side of the galaxy, who jumped from one fight to the next, taking it upon herself to make sure people like the laserbrains that picked on her and Biggs got what was coming to them. She found strength and comfort in chaos that had a cause behind it, took it as training for when she’d lead battles and start revolutions, felt adventure calling at every turn and, yet, still longed for so much _more_.  
     Leia let out a sigh through her nose. Her mind was far from muddled, but sifting through her thoughts proved rather difficult, for she never could find it in herself to slow down for a moment. Biggs had mentioned something the other day about mindfulness, how that old wizard Kenobi meditated a whopping four times a day. She didn’t know if she believed him, if only because it seemed completely impossible that anybody— even _Ben Kenobi_ who, according to her uncle, had birds for brains— could clear their head for a millisecond, let alone for a prolonged period of time, four times a day. Leia couldn’t do that, thus, she couldn’t believe it was possible.  
     She wondered if her _somebody_ could do anything like that.  
     Eyes still focused intently on a sky that was slowly shifting into morning, Leia blinked for a second and swore she saw a light blink along with her, a momentary flash setting the sky ablaze for an instant. She didn’t know if it was a ship, or a vision, or a message from above—  
     But, on the chance it was a shooting star, she bowed her head, closed her eyes, and prayed to be made into a ship herself, to have mechanical wings and windows for eyes and the ability to fly far, far away from here.

 

     The next day, Owen finds her in almost the same position, arms serving as a rest for her forehead, legs draped over her bed, shoulders bumping into the walls. Next to him, Beru chuckles, shaking her head from side to side. She doesn’t need to say anything for him to know what she’s thinking;  
     — _oh, stars, what are we to do with her?_

 

 

     A L D E R A A N.  
     To the surprise of absolutely nobody, Prince Luke Organa had skipped out on his royal and political duties for the day, opting instead to hide from the limelight for a moment and turn the attention to focus solely on Senator Bail.  
     It was a common occurrence by now, he knew the senate could learn to live without him— they barely let him talk, anyway, and it’s not as though he was particularly eager to give in input for a bunch of kriffing leathernecks who were too old to remember what it was like to have a good time, anyway.  
      Besides, it’s a special occasion.  
     Luke Organa is nineteen-years old today.  
      _Nineteen-years young_ , his mother had cheekily quipped that morning. Her smile had held fragments of sadness in it, her hands framing his face and really taking him in, as if she’d wanted to memorize the way he looked in that moment prior to the night in which she knew he’d camp out and wait for the minutes of the hours to determine his time, as if she’d wanted to say more, but Luke had kissed her cheek quickly and laughed accordingly, throwing a  _not nineteen yet!_ over his shoulder and bolting out as quick as he could.  
     His mother was a regal woman in the public eye; she held the loyalty of the people of Alderaan in her hands and she treasured that loyalty with all she had. He thought of her as a great leader in passing, but, at the end of the day, she was still his _mom_. Maybe not biologically— and, _boy_ , was _that_ something he thought about often— but she and the senator cared for him like no other, treated him like their treasure, and he loved them both with the ferocity of the sun’s brightest rays.  
     Luke crosses his legs and turns his head towards the sky. Alderaan was different at night. Not better, not worse; just… different. As he places a hand over the wall made of glass found on their castle’s observatory, Luke thinks he should consider himself lucky to have the privilege of growing up somewhere known as ‘the planet of beauty.’ He figures there was sense in the title, what with the massive and regal bodies of water, beautifully tamed grapevines and flowers blooming over any possible surface, and miles of snowy caps, it was a rather surreal place to be in— the most peaceful of the Core Worlds, they all said with pride. Luke was raised knowing he could have essentially anything he wanted, as long as he stayed within his rights and constraints.  
     And, yet…  
     There was this insatiable hunger inside of him, threatening to swallow him up whole. As a child, he’d played the role of the dutiful politician’s son, keeping his head held high and watching as his father spoke in a cadence that deciphered truth from fiction, law from injustice, right from wrong— it was fascinating, Luke could admit, to know that no member of the senate could get away with corruption on Alderaan as long as Bail Organa held his position.  
     Luke could appreciate that for what it was. The problem, therein, tended to lie in the people expecting _him_ to be able to pull off the same tricks as his dad, people expected _him_ , an absent minded daydreamer with constellations in his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders, yes, people expected _him_ to become the next senator of Alderaan and lead the throne, to be the saving grace of a place that, in reality, he didn’t really believe needed all that saving. For as long as he could remember, he’d tried to be what everyone had deemed him to be, to keep his feet on the ground and his eyes off the sky, but something more _otherworldly_ seemed to pull his focus up to the stars— he felt it when he flew through the galaxy with his parents on political missions to other planets in the Coruscant Core, felt it when he would sift through old astronomy volumes and find the same brushstrokes carefully positioned on its pages littered across the Alderaanian sky—  
    Felt it, especially, on this night, every year, without fail.  
    His breath had started fogging up the glass, and he pulled back to examine the cloud that had blossomed before his lips. With a dramatic flourish, he signed his initials on the offending bit of the glass, placing the notorious symbol of the rebellion right next to it, and leaned back, taking in the view. The glass barrier (which he usually found to be rather poetic, making the wall seem like a painting out of his favorite book) was specifically annoying tonight, for there was nothing more he wanted than to take his fist through it and breathe in the air outside, feel the wind nip at his cheeks, reignite his soul, even if it came at the cost of a bloodied hand and pain he was willing to go through anything to break from the constraints that had been pushed onto him since birth.  
     His mother and father, the Queen and the Senator, had always been the perfect mold of everything he was supposed to encompass but never quite could. Luke had oft found himself wondering what was wrong with him, why he couldn’t just sit still and obey, why he couldn’t be like his parents who had raised him, who loved him, who asked one thing and one thing only: to attend to his duties and take his place as the next leader.  
      _Duty_ was a nasty little word that revertebrated through Luke’s head on those sleepless nights where he’d make detailed escape plans on the margins of his books, only to close it quickly and shove it under his bed, the guilt threatening to consume him whole. _Fate_ , it seemed, was much stronger than duty, and, try as he might, Luke Organa could not escape it.  
     Looking up at the moonless celestial heavens, sprinkled on all sides by stars that seemed so close yet burned so far, he couldn’t help but wonder if that had anything to do with his real pa— with his _biological_ parents, he amended— wondered if they were the ones who had injected these dreams into his core, if he was doomed to a life of dissatisfaction simply because of the DNA he shared with two utter strangers who had doomed him to a life spent in the metaphorical dark. He knew nothing of them, told himself he didn’t _need_ to know anything, but sometimes, _oh, sometimes,_ he looked in the mirror and found himself wondering who he was.  
     The answer, of course, would come in the form of the droids that kept watch over him— _Prince Luke Organa, you are to report to the senate at exactly 0900 hours_ — but that wasn’t good enough. What qualified him to be royalty? He wasn’t a part of the Organa bloodline, not really, no matter how many times the words _Prince Luke_ fell from the lips of passerbys who gawked at him. What destined him to live out his days lavishly, on the ground, than in the middle of the battlefield, high up above his wildest fantasies, other than mere circumstance?  
     Who had taken away his right to _choose_?  
     In that moment, he felt a flare of hot indignance burn deep through his body— how _dare_ someone make his decisions for him, take away his basic human right to decide who he was meant to be, if they wanted him in _power_ , oh, he’d _show them_ power— and it flashed violently before simmering out into a deep discontent with no outward malevolence.  
     Times like that were frightening, like there were tides he didn’t even know about waxing and waning inside of him. Yes, he sometimes fell prey to terrifying feelings in which he knew he’d do whatever it takes to fulfill his destiny and get out of here but—  
     But _these_ feelings were different. They weren’t his, he _knew_ they weren’t his. They came from a thousand lightyears away, yet he felt them as his own, a fiery pit that came and went on sleepless nights that was so close to who he was yet so much unlike him that he couldn’t come up with an answer to it, could barely admit it to himself that he could sometimes feel the same things as a _somebody_ who he knew was so far away, _somebody_ who he could feel had the same aspirations he did, but who felt this unwavering _anger_ that he himself did not think he had.  
     His breath hitched in his throat; he felt the pull between him and that somebody stronger than he ever had before, unwavering and unending, and somehow, _somehow_ he knew that, wherever they were, they, too, were pointing their chin towards their inner compass, feeling as suffocated as he did and thinking about whatever force had decided to connect them. The blatant strength of it was there only fleetingly, but he had _felt_ it, and it was still present in the middle of his chest, he could feel it burning there if he closed his eyes and thought about it hard enough, but he didn’t.  
     Instead, his mind turned to the ongoing revolts against the Empire. He only knew what he’d heard through the grapevine, heavy rumors of _revolution_ and _justice_ dripping off the tongues of everyone on Alderaan, and it was concepts like those that fanned the flame of want he felt deep within himself— he’d often asked his parents about the political turmoil, playing it off as him finally trying to settle down and go into the family business, but Bail and Breha had always known him better than that.  
     Where the rest of the world saw Prince Luke Organa, they saw a gentle dreamer with high hopes and determination in spades; a part of the Queen and the Senator had always known they could never tie Luke down, knew he would always fly away, but that didn’t mean they would ever stop trying.  
     Luke bit his lip, resting his forehead against the glass, eyes wide open as a shooting star— or a rebel ship?— left a streak of stardust through the sky, gone as soon as it came. He closed his eyes, the afterimage of the meteor burst still burned into his retinas, a silent but persistent prayer blooming on his lips.

 

     It was like this that Bail and Breha found him, hours later, hunched over the observatory wall, sunlight now streaming through it and giving the young prince the quality of a dim glow radiating off his body, making him look like one of the nuclear stars they knew he was so fond of. They shared a look, pointed and quick, before turning back to their son, their pride and joy, who had always been destined to be more than they ever could imagine.  
     — _should we—?  
     — no. let him dream, if only for another moment._

  
FIN. 

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on tumblr @70srat or on twit @lucillefrank !! ( th l’s are both is uppercase i’s ! )


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